Boars of laughter and congratulations fol
lowed, the latter of which our singer gracefully
disclaimed with the modest assertion that ‘ ‘some
men had the knack at remembering things that
stood’em instead of genius.” But dinner was
over and we took up our line of march from
the regions of eternal night, singing as we
went for lack of thought. Beaching camp we
found the tents all struck, our horses saddled,
and our small Picks and Gumbos running in
dire dismay into every cramy and crevioe of
the adjoining rocks, in the hope of find us.
“Lor massa,” said one small specimen, about
as high as a grasshopper, with his .legs in
about the same graceful proportion to his body
as those of that insect, and forming a very res
pectable parenthesis in their efforts to reach
his nimble little body, “Lor, massa, I thought
you’d be leff sure, and wha’d Pick do wid dem
two debbil horses ?” and Pick, in the ecstacy
of relief from his consternation, wiped his
shining countenance with the blue and black
smoking cap I had received from home a week
before, and which had disappeared mysteri"
ously in the interim. What, oh! what would
Dulcinea say to see the work of her dainty
fingers cooling the brow of her “dusk brother?”
But Pick anticipated the violent remon
stance, which he saw trembling at the end of
the cane I had cut upon the mountain, and
broke out, in unfeigned horror, “ Bress the
Lor’, massa, if dere aint yer smokin’ cap, ycr
done gone loss las’ Sunday mornin’! Whar
he come from ? Ido d’clar I don’t know nuf
fin ’bout him: debbil hab him, sure.” Where
did the cap come from? Not out of Pick’s
pockets, certainly, as I had had frequent occu
lar demonstrations that those receptacles were
like the pit in the Apocalypse, bottomless.
We left the question unsolved, and rode on
with the advancing line. That night we slept
beneath our shelter tents, near Trenton, Ga.,
among a people still bitterly and unreservedly
secesh, because they had not yet felt the rava
ges of war, and learned with what a tender
care their beneficent Government protects her
suffering children.
Some of the exquisite stalactites which I
brought from the cave adorn my desk this mo
ment, serving as weights to keep down the bulky
official documents that would otherwise make
this strong South wind their post-horse, and
fly, like run away slaves, to the mountain fast
nesses. I wish I could transfer them to a ta
ble in the Great Central Fair, in dear old
Philadelphia. But the “ General” has rung
out on the soft May air. It says “we start in
exactly one hour,” and I have only time to say
all success to the Fair, and undying gratitude
to its managers from those of us who have en
joyed already, and the many around me, who
must soon be applicants for its bounty.
HOOKER AND SICKLES.
At the time of the late advance of General
Sherman towards Atlanta, our regiment was
Oit33. 3 Daily Pabb.
at Bossville, a town about five miles southeast
of Chattanooga, consisting of one house, a few
negro cabins, and three large barns. Our
headquarters were in the old house, occupied
“lang syne” by the original and paternal
John Boss, Chief of the Cherokee nation, who,
by the way, must have been quite a civilized
man. We were just at the foot of Missionary
Bidge, and at the entrance of the gap through
which runs the Binggold road. A fine spring
is hard by, and it is an excellent place for
troops to halt for rest and water. One day
Geary’s division had just passed by on its way
to the front; the balance of General Hooker’s
corps was following, and “ Old Joe,” with
General Sickles, was sitting on our porch,
when a paymaster rode up with a rueful coun
tenance, and told General Hooker that he was
at a loss what to do with his money; had
$250,000 for Geary’s division; didn’t know
where Geary was; might be in the face of the
enemy, etc. etc., and would like to get rid of
the money. The General’s eyes twinkled.
“My dear sir,” Baid he, “nothing easier than
to relieve you. None of the gentlemen pre
sent, I am sure, would object to an equable
distribution.” “Not at all,” said Sickles,
gravely shifting his crutches, “it would not
only relieve our friend the Paymaster, but
also our own necessities.” Hooker finally
told the puzzled Paymaster “ that General
Geary’s division had gone on, but that he could
pay it when it went into camp that afternoon ;
that he had no doubt the men wanted the
money, and he would afford him every facility
to pay them. Orderly, bring up the horses.”
Then they mounted, and Sickles, giving his
crutches to an orderly, screwed his stump to
the saddle, and they were soon out of sight.
SMALL ITEMS OF THE FAIB.
We owe many thanks to the Evening Bulle
tin, as indeed to The Frees, North American,
and nearly every journal in Philadelphia, for
favors shown to our little sheet. But special
gratitude is due to the proprietors of the news
paper first mentioned, from the fact that they
have every day sent promptly to our table sev
eral copies of their second edition, all of
which have passed from the hands of our Daily
Fairies like hot cakes. As this phrase is
French we will not apologize for it with quo
tation marks Apropos of those same Fair
ies, one being asked why all were dressed in
black and white, remarked briefly : “ Printers
ink on paper.” The Delaware dames have
certainly contrived to put some very fascinat
ing specimens of Blue Hen’s Chickens on guard
over their goods. Our Daily Fare, is, we be
lieve, not bad, but if it required any addi
tions it should certainly be from such poultry,
to be treated, of course, en gallant ine. There
now, get out your cook-books !
Those who would remember the Fair, and
show savoir faire and good taste together,
should wend their way to the book table
and buy “ Flowers from the Battle-Field,” a
charming little volume, winsome without and
wondrous sweet within, by M. T. C. Busy as
Daily Fare is, we have found time to read
nearly all the delightful lyrics in this most de
lightful book, and have— parole d'honneur —but
one fault to find with the volume. It is not
one-twenty-fifth part as large as it ought to
be. “The Duchess of Marlborough’s Re
venge ” is one of the upper five hundred of
English poems, and will live after cotempo
rary volumes now believed to be immortal
shall have been forgotten Mr. Croaker has
several times visited one of the tables in Union
Avenue, but made no sign of serious purchas
ing intentions. Taking up, the other day, a
large family pin-cushion, got up in the round
solid-shot style, he inquired, “And pray, now,
what can that be for?” “ For you, of course,
Mr. Croaker.” In the twinkling of an eye
Mr. Croaker was observed carefully loading
his hat with that solid shot, using lib left hand
and arm for a rammer We are requested
to notice that “T. Borradaile, opposite the
Post Office at Mount Holly, N. J.,” has come
forth with the following :
The undersigned, a veteran of 1812, and
prisoner of war in one of the “floating hells”*
of England, in 1813, proposes to be one of a
club of one hundred men, or ladies, Heaven
bless ’em ! “ Last at the Cross and first at the
Sepulohre!” to contribute $lO each—sl,ooo —
one hundred tickets of admission to the
County Fair grounds on the 18th instant, to
be “donated,” NO! Perish the thought—in
such a sacred cause! to be paid to the Sanita
ry Commission, as a small instalment of the
countless debt we already owe the brave de
fenders of “ our lives, our fortunes, and our
sacred honor,” and who are now pining in
prisons and in hospitals,
God save the Union
——• Prison ships.
Well, Borradaile, we agree with you in say
ing perish the word donated. Never having
seen it used in any connection in which given,
or, at worst, presented would not better answer
the purpose, we quite coincide with this strong
utterance —and may “proven” and “in our
midst” pass away to oblivion with it. Ad
vance, oh Borrodaile!
The polished stranger who enquired at thel
perfumery table for cologne made from farina,
was referred by a fair attendant to the Corn
starch department, but soon returned with the
observation that he wished the extract of
flowers and not flour. He explained that he
“wanted the Rhenish perfume from the most
celebrated houses of Cologne on the Rhine,
the fascinating sweetness of which is not ap
proached by any of the imitations which flood
our market with their sick-famile libels.” He
meant fac-simile labels; but he had been
placed in such an awkward position owing to
that farina, and be hanged to it! that his little
error was at once overlooked. He obtained
the genuine Frangois Marie Farina extract,
and departed perfumed and happy.
T. Borraeaile